He Called Me Gold Digger, Now He Can't Let Go

In the quiet seclusion of a house on Aneville's outskirts. Scarlett Riley pressed helplessly against the cool pane of a towering window, her back arching beneath Asher Sullivan's unyielding hold. His hand clamped around her waist, guiding every movement with steady control, taking from her what he wanted while remaining perfectly composed—his crisp suit showing only a whisper of disarray. She, in contrast, was left trembling and breathless, hair in disarray, skin flushed with heat. The encounter had ignited without warning, yet it still left Scarlett's heart fluttering, her gaze blurred by the haze of desire. Asher, heir to the powerful Sullivan family, was the man she had called husband for three years. In all that time, warmth between them had been scarce, yet whenever their bodies met, they moved together as if made for this wordless rhythm. What he liked about her the most was her quiet submission. Wherever he reached for her, she yielded—never resisting—always giving him exactly what he craved. Just like this time—the moment he stepped through the door, his desire took over. He then pulled her into a sea of passion. Asher's fingers tilted Scarlett's chin until she was forced to look up at him, her clear eyes mirroring the sharp lines of his striking face. Three years had passed, yet he never seemed to tire of gazing into her eyes. Scarlett's lashes fluttered, as though she might tumble into the depths of his gaze. Before she could steady her breath, Asher pulled back, already done—swift, detached, and cold. There was no hesitation in his gesture. No tenderness. "Take your medicine downstairs while I shower. After that, there's something I've got to tell you," he said. His eyes lost their warmth, turning cold and distant as he went into the bathroom without a glance back. The "medicine" waiting for her downstairs was a herbal contraceptive—one the family doctor claimed was gentle, harmless even. For three years, after every night spent with Asher, Scarlett had been required to take it. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she put on her clothes and made her way down the stairs. In the kitchen, Rhonda Murray, the maid, stood ready with a steaming mug of dark liquid. The sharp, earthy bitterness filled the air, making Scarlett's stomach twist. "Would you like me to sweeten it a little, Mrs. Sullivan?" Rhonda asked quietly, offering a small, sympathetic smile as she extended the mug toward Scarlett. With Asher gone so often, Rhonda had become the one constant in Scarlett's life. Over the years, she had grown to feel for Scarlett. Each time Asher came home, he left again soon after, leaving behind only the echo of his absence. Rhonda knew that whatever bound Asher and Scarlett together, it was not love. Being married to a man of wealth was nothing like the glamorous fantasy outsiders imagined. "There's no need for that." Scarlett lifted the mug and drained the bitter concoction in one swift swallow before handing it back. Rhonda let out a quiet sigh and carried the mug into the kitchen to clean it up. Left alone, Scarlett settled onto the sofa, her hands clasped on her lap as silence pressed around her. She waited for Asher to finish his shower. Before long, Asher appeared at the top of the staircase, descending with effortless poise. Strands of hair fell across his forehead, softening the sharp lines of his features. Even dressed casually, he exuded an aloof, commanding presence that seemed to place him above the world around him. He then sat down opposite Scarlett, his gaze lifting with a quiet, cool composure. "I've found the girl from twelve years ago," he said. The sentence struck Scarlett like ice water, making her freeze. Asher reached into the drawer of the coffee table, drew out a folder, and set it before her. She lowered her eyes, flipping through the pages with trembling fingers. The photographs showed a woman named Nora Dixon—graceful, poised, with eyes so hauntingly similar to Scarlett's that they made her chest tighten. The resemblance wasn't a coincidence. It was the cruel truth staring back at Scarlett. All along, she had been nothing more than Nora's substitute in Asher's eyes. A faint, bitter curve touched her lips. How many times had Asher's eyes settled on her, only for her to realize he wasn't truly seeing her at all—but the ghost of another woman? Those eyes of hers were the reason he had married her. Swallowing the ache in her chest, Scarlett forced a fragile smile. "So... She's the one who saved you back then? The girl you've been searching for all these years?" The one who stole his heart first? "Yes." Asher's gaze held hers, steady and unflinching, as he gave a single, deliberate nod. "Congrats—you've finally found her." Scarlett tried hard to make herself look composed. Something about Scarlett's calm expression unsettled Asher; an ache he couldn't quite name stirred in his chest. "So, I suppose this is where the convenient bed partner makes her graceful exit, right?" Scarlett's voice carried a brittle calm, the words sharp yet airy, as though she were trying to make light of her own heartache. Asher's eyes lingered on her face. He looked as if weighing whether she meant the words she said. Refusing to let him glimpse the cracks in her composure, Scarlett pressed on, her tone steady though her fingers tightened in her lap. "You've treated me quite well these past three years. At least I got a taste of what it's like to live as a rich man's wife. I suppose we can call it even. You have more than repaid me for saving you." Reclining against the sofa, she let her eyes drift, as though sifting through fading memories. Asher fell silent at her words. Three years ago, when his enemies cornered him, it had been Scarlett who had pulled him out of danger. But the price she paid was brutal—a car crash that had left her body scarred and plagued with lasting injury. Back then, he had asked her what kind of repayment she wanted. She didn't hesitate—what she wanted was to be his wife. Looking into her eyes that day, Asher hadn't hesitated. He had agreed, and before the sun set, they'd registered their marriage. From that moment on, she had worn the title Mrs. Sullivan for three long years. Only after becoming his wife did Scarlett uncover the truth—Asher's heart had never been hers to claim. Hidden deep within it was another woman, the one he had loved first, the one he believed fate had intended for him. For years, he had searched for her, and now, he had finally found her. And the time had come for Scarlett to step aside. With her chin resting lightly in her palm, Scarlett eased herself out of her reverie, slipped the ring from her finger, and placed it softly on the table before her. A faint, almost wistful smile touched her lips as she said, "When you're ready to end our marriage, I'll sign the divorce papers." Under the warm light, the diamond ring shimmered like a single frozen tear. Unbeknownst to Asher, Scarlett had long carried a secret crush on him. It was only three years ago, when she risked her life to save his, that she finally got a chance to get close to him. Now, as the cool air brushed the bare skin of her finger, she knew the love she'd guarded so fiercely had finally slipped away with the ring. It was time for her to let go, even though she knew it would feel like a blade twisting deep inside her. The ache tore through her chest, sharp and merciless, as if someone had reached in and ripped a piece of her heart away. Asher's expression didn't change. "We'll do it tomorrow—before my company's morning meeting starts." "Alright." Scarlett's answer came steady, clipped. Rising to her feet, she turned to go upstairs and start packing, but his voice cut through the silence. "Just say the word. I'll give you anything you ask for as compensation." Asher had always felt he owed Scarlett. If love was something he couldn't offer her, then wealth would have to take its place. Without glancing back, Scarlett spoke evenly. "I want a child. Is that something you can give me?" Asher's answer came before the question even settled in the air. "No." A faint smile touched Scarlett's lips, bitter and resigned. "Then we're done, Asher. There's nothing left that I want from you." With that, she climbed the stairs in silence, her heels echoing faintly through the quiet house. For three long years, she had been compliant toward him and done everything asked of her. Today had been the first time she'd voiced a wish of her own—a child. Yet even that, he had refused. There was nothing left worth holding onto. She had never been the kind of woman to beg or linger where she wasn't wanted. Asher's gaze tracked her retreating figure until it vanished at the top of the stairs, a crease forming between his brows—something rare for him. Just then, his phone rang on the table. The screen lit up with the name of the sanatorium where Nora lived.